


blasphemy

by gingergenower



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Spoilers Oh God The Spoilers Up To The End of Season 3, cutesiesss, dianaolveira
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:02:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7460514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingergenower/pseuds/gingergenower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anne and Aramis return to the convent, seven years after their first visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blasphemy

**Author's Note:**

> all credit to dianaolveira for the prompt, thank you, and I hope you like it! it's not as long as I hoped but I don't want to ruin it by adding useless paragraphs for length's sake  
> \---obligatory spoilers warning so many spoilers pls don’t spoil yourself---

In all, it took a year. The war ended, and the pressure on the finance of the country dropped, and thus the lives of the people improved. The queen capitalized on this freed money, investing in the people, and they seemed to forget her Spanish blood and loved her for her determined fairness and generosity. Aramis at her side, guiding her through more difficult choices and supporting her easy ones, d’Artagnan managing the musketeers with the kind of young fervour Athos lacked, Anne thought she had everything she wanted. 

Then, a year had passed, and she didn’t, but the world opened itself up to her. The people loved her. Life blossomed open, the kind of hope that hadn’t been her own a warmth in her stomach, and France was hers, and her deceased husband became a man of distant memory. 

Constance laced Anne into her dress early in the morning, her skirts layers upon layers of lilac silk embroidered with gold thread flowers twisting up her bodice and into sleeves. A bracelet of the flowers wound around her wrist, and real flowers woven into her hair, they left the palace without ceremony or circumstance, because France neither knew nor cared for her person as long as her loyalty to the people remained. 

D’Artagnan and his musketeers trotted alongside the carriage, and Constance beamed, clutching Anne’s hand. She returned the smiles thrown at her, but there was something in Anne that kept her quiet.

Petals of the flowers in her hair scattered on the floor led the path to the door. D’Artagnan offered her an arm, and she took it, climbing out of the carriage, followed by Constance.

“How is he?”

He struggled, opening and closing his mouth a few times. “I don’t know I have the words, your majesty.”

“He is happy?”

D’Artagnan laughed. “He is beside himself with happiness, your majesty.”

Biting her lip, she smiled and took Constance’s arm instead. D’Artagnan turned back, directing the musketeers to their stations, and Constance led her in.

The front rows held their friends. Porthos held Marie-Cessette, Elodie and Sylvie chatting with each other, baby in Sylvie’s arms and Athos leaning past the women to talk to engage Porthos in conversation. On the other side, space for Constance and d’Artagnan was left, and two rows behind that were filled with the nuns of the convent.

They stood, and Aramis was waiting for her.

So strange, that their return here would be when seven years passed, having lived whole lifetimes between, and yet, they were here. Their beautiful dream an honest truth. 

He waited for her at the altar.

Vibrant, buzzing, his eyes fell on her as everyone stood, and he went still and silent. Constance put her hands in his, and Anne couldn’t even bring herself to look at the nun, his dark eyes focussed so wholly on her.

To say she wasn’t aware of the ceremony would be unfair, she knew it was happening, she simply didn’t care for it. She watched him, every quirk of his mouth, the way he savoured every word he spoke, pledging himself to God and to her. He’d already pledged himself to God, and fled from that commitment, but he’d already assured her he held her in higher regard than God. That blasphemy earned him a kiss.

Anne found it in herself to listen enough and say the right words, everything they needed, and she understood his blasphemy. She would give up God if it meant keeping him.

At the last word of the nun, and they looked at each other, and they didn’t quite know what to do. Aramis’ hand rested on her lower arm, swallowing, and she could feel his fingers trembling.

“May I?”

She nodded, and he stepped in to put his hands on her waist, and it occurred to her they had never touched in the presence of anyone except Constance.

Lips meeting hers, he sighed, and pulled her in so that she could feel her heart throbbing in her chest. Or perhaps it was his. 

He broke the kiss, but kept her enveloped in his arms. “My wife,” he murmured, the words sweet and soft, and he savoured them as she would to live that moment again.

“Yes, my love?” she said, and her face didn’t change as tears streamed down her face and being home felt like this, this was happiness, his thumb touching her tears away.

“I never thought…”

She laughed, taking fistfuls of his shirt to keep him close, nodding and shaking away her relief. Hope no longer had a grip on her- joy did. "Neither did I."

Throwing herself upwards at him, he caught her and laughed with her, her feet needn’t touch the floor as he spun her around. She burrowed her face into his neck, and she knew he’d always catch her.

**Author's Note:**

> okay legit I did my research: green was considered bad luck for a wedding dress and white wasn’t in fashion until after Queen Victoria's wedding, and priests were not necessary to marry no I’m not kidding


End file.
